


His Gilded Cage

by hawk_soaring



Category: SGA - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 17:16:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawk_soaring/pseuds/hawk_soaring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A ritual on a distant planet goes terribly wrong. Will the taken team member be found or lost to them forever?</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Gilded Cage

Title: His Gilded Cage  
Author: hawk_soaring  
Fandom: SGA  
Pairing: John/ OFC  
Summary: A ritual on a distant planet goes terribly wrong. Will the taken team member be found or lost to them forever?  
Warnings: Slavery, abuse, **non-con**

A/N: A Moonridge fic for Tracie who wanted: John as a sex slave to a very dominant woman.

A/N2: Beta’d by the wonderful Annie B. Thank you again! :)

Word Count: 5,800

~*~*~

  
It was ridiculous really; yet another instance of _‘play nice with the natives’_ and _‘we need this treaty, John… do what you have to do’_. So here he was, stripped of his weapons and ferreted off to a tent to be _‘cleansed’_ while his teammates were trying to hide their smirks of amusement from the village elders. A drink of ceremonial wine literally knocked him on his ass and he barely had time to register that he was in trouble before darkness overtook him and he crumpled to the ground.

~*~*~

Waking only brought a stab of blinding pain shooting through his head and he quickly decided two things: moving wasn’t a good idea and keeping his eyes closed just might keep him from puking. If he puked he would have to move so he resigned himself to the darkness of closed eyelids for a little while longer.

John quickly came to the conclusion that he must have had a reaction to the herbs in the ceremonial wine. And wouldn’t Rodney just love that? He groaned softly at the thought of the torments he’d have to put up with over this one. The soft groan turned to short panting breaths as the sound sent a stabbing pain shooting through his head and his hands scrabbled against the nubby material he was lying on.

He tensed as a cool, damp cloth was draped across his eyes and forehead. Strong fingers curled around his wrist when he lifted his arm to remove the cloth. A soft shushing sound and a gentle pat as his arm was pressed back down was his only indication that someone was trying to help him and he was silently grateful that Rodney wasn’t grousing already as he thought his head might actually split open at the sound.

He fell back to sleep and woke later to the sound of someone speaking softly. Opening one eye, John was grateful that his headache seemed to be better. The room he was in was shadowed and he surmised it was evening and he’d slept the day away. With a soft sigh, John realized there was no way he was going to get by without Rodney grousing about the time he’d wasted, the places Rodney would rather have been, and the things he could have been doing instead of cooling his heels waiting for John to wake from his wine-induced slumber.

A soft sigh escaped his lips and he silently cursed at himself as the room fell silent. Soft, measured footsteps approached where he lay and he turned his head slightly. It was a woman; tall and wearing a long flowing dress made of an almost sheer material that floated around her body, molding to the curves and giving him just a hint of what she would look like – out of it.

As the woman sat on a low chair pulled up to the side of his bed, John realized he had never seen her before. Her skin was the color of pale chocolate milk and her hair was black enough that it took on a blue sheen as the candle light hit it. With a start, he realized there was no way she was from the planet – but he hadn’t seen her on Atlantis either. So where had she come from?

The woman began to hum softly, her voice a beautiful melody of sound. Her fingers carded through his hair briefly and his scalp felt sensitized, as if he hadn’t been touched in years, and he closed his eyes to better savor the sensation, falling back to sleep almost immediately.

~~~

“We have to go back!”

Elizabeth Weir sighed softly. “Rodney, sit down,” she said calmly as she watched the scientist pace.

“But—!” he began, his hands waving in the air.

“But nothing, Rodney,” Elizabeth said. “Sit.” She nodded to Evan Lorne. “Major Lorne, Teyla, Ronon, please join us.” She waited while everyone took seats around the small conference table. Once everyone was seated she looked around, making eye contact with each of them in turn before nodding once. “So – update?”

Rodney pounced on the opening and began a tirade against the indigenous people they had been trying to forge a relationship with only stammering to a halt when Elizabeth interrupted his heated speech.

“Rodney, while I certainly understand your anger toward the people of –“

“Anger?” Rodney sputtered. “You think this is anger?”

Elizabeth sighed. “Rodney, I understand that you are angry but we need to move past that now if we’re to recover Colonel Sheppard.”

Rodney opened his mouth, seeming to want to say something else, and then closed it with an almost audible snap. Lorne reached over and patted Rodney on the shoulder and Elizabeth could see him relax slightly.

“So what do we know?”

~~~

Elizabeth looked out over the gently lapping waters, leaning on the railing. The news wasn’t good and she had no clue if they could ever recover John. After he’d been taken to be readied for the ceremony, the others had gone to the celebration tent. Their dinner must have been drugged because when they had awoken next, the sun was high in the sky and they were lying beside the star gate.

The people were nomadic and when the remaining members of the team went back, the mobile village was gone. Teams had been dispatched through the ‘gate but by the time they had located the villagers two days had passed.

Skalen, the village elder had simply shaken his head as he apologized, but it was “out of his hands” according to him. According to him and the villagers who had been brave enough to crowd around the team as they had confronted him, their “god” had taken John as an offering toward peace and prosperity.

As no one had gone through the ‘gate and John’s life sign could not be located on the planet, they had only one choice – to assume the “god” had taken John away from the planet by spaceship. Tracking that ship might be impossible – but they weren’t going to give up on him. They would continue to search – for however long it took.

~~~

John was alone when he woke next. He turned to look toward the source of the sunlight, blinking against the harsh glare, before he realized that his headache was gone. Stretching, he groaned at the pull on his muscles and wondered that he felt like he’d been abed for days instead of hours. His stomach took that moment to let him know he’d also not eaten for a while and, smiling faintly, he sat up, pushing the thin blanket down to pool at his waist.

As he turned to swing his feet off the bed, John realized two things: he was naked, and one ankle was affixed to the bed frame somehow. He held tightly to the blanket as he tugged with his leg, beginning to panic slightly as he pulled against the resistance of whatever he was shackled with. John’s fingers scrambled against the blanket, pulling it up his legs but leaving it to cover his groin.

The chain had a reddish-gold cast to it as did the shackle around his ankle. Using both hands, John tugged at the chain, grunting with his effort but it was no use. It was stronger than it looked.

John huffed out an annoyed breath and looked around the room, noting its rather plain furnishings. “Hey! Who are you? What do you want with me?”

Just then he heard a door open and he twisted around on the bed to see. A tall, slender man walked in, his head bowed, black metal bands at his wrists and ankles, his body covered only by a pair of loose trousers that looked like they were made of roughly woven linen.

“Who’re you?” John asked roughly.

The man dropped to his knees just inside the door, pushing it closed behind him with an almost silent snick before getting to his feet again and approaching the bed.

John wasn’t happy that the man didn’t speak to him or that apparently his wrist and ankle cuffs were not to be removed – or that he was quickly put on his ass when he took a swing at the man, thinking to hightail it out of there as soon as his ankle was freed from the chain. He chalked it up to him being drugged recently and tried not to think about just how quickly and easily the man had taken him down.

The man looked at him with a mixture of resignation and disgust as he reached down and lifted John to his feet with an ease that bespoke of great strength. Once he was standing somewhat steadily, the man fastened a collar around his neck, attached a leash and tugged him forward.

John’s hands held onto the leash as he stumbled along behind the man, his nakedness forgotten for the moment, overshadowed by his humiliation at being dragged along on a leash of all things. He muttered and cursed the man striding along in front of him but got no reaction and John wondered if the man even understood him.

All thoughts of the man dragging him forward went out of his head when he was pushed to his knees. He looked up defiantly and gasped as he looked into eyes the color of molten chocolate. He’d seen this woman before – when he was ill. It was the same woman who he’d been sure was only a figment of his dreams.

As he stared, the woman smiled and turned her gaze upward, over his head to where the man stood if the angle of the leash was anything to go by. “Hey!” he snarled, his hands reaching for the chain again. “Who the hell are you and what am I doing here?”

The woman smirked a little. “Did he give you much trouble?” Her smirk widened into a smile. “Had to put him on his back, did you?” She laughed. “Oh, Lem,” she chided. “Don’t fret so. I knew you could handle him.”

John frowned. Fret? The thug standing behind him hadn’t even made a sound. John had the feeling the man wasn’t playing with a full deck. Too bad. He’d had hopes of using him to escape. After all, it looked like the man was in a similar state: cuffed and collared. His life must be hell. Even if this Lem was a bit off his rocker maybe he could use him to get out of this place.

“You didn’t answer me!” John shouted, pressing his hands against the floor and trying to push himself to his feet. A sharp blow between his shoulder blades sent him back to his knees, gasping for breath around the pain. He twisted around. “What the fuck do you—”

His voice was cut off as a strong hand grasped his jaw, fingers pressing inward painfully. A strangled yelp of pain was all he could offer and he struggled against the hold for a moment.

“Stop!”

The sound of the woman’s voice stilled John and he tried to twist around to look at her, held back only by the man’s strength. His hands rose to instinctively pull at the hand causing him pain.

“I said stop!” The woman sounded furious. “Lem, secure that mouth.”

John fought as a muzzle was forced on him, the flat bit forced between his teeth before the straps were fastened snugly around his head. His hands scrabbled uselessly against Lem’s skin before they were grasped and forced behind his back. As Lem released his grip, John realized his cuffs had been fastened together and he glared up at the other man, growling when Lem simply smiled and turned from him to face the woman again.

When John turned his gaze to the woman, he found her smiling down at him from where she sat. “You disappoint me,” she said evenly, her hands gripping the arm rests of her austere, throne-like chair tight enough that John could see her knuckles whiten. He took strange pleasure in the fact that he’d angered her. “I’d meant to welcome you properly but you haven’t earned my attention. Lem, have him caged in the main hall. I’ll deal with him later.”

Two hours later, his legs mostly numb from being bound on his knees, John was dragged from the tiny cage he’d been forced into. He screamed into the muzzle as Lem hauled him to his feet, the agony of circulation returning to his legs excruciating. Lem gave him no pause, however, pulling him along by one hand wrapped around his bicep in a bruising grip. John’s legs threatened to give out with every agonizing step and he was almost grateful for being forced to kneel again at the woman’s feet.

This time John knelt silently, his gaze downcast, breathing heavily through his nose as he waited for the woman to speak. Maybe this time she’d actually tell him where he was – and why he was naked and chained. His mind kept supplying various explanations, none of which were very palatable. No, he was hoping she would actually give him a reason he could wrap his head around. And then he would figure out a way to escape. His surroundings led him to believe he was on a different planet than when he’d been taken and there was a chance his people wouldn’t be able to track him. Escaping on his own seemed his only option.

“My subjects have gifted you to me,” she said after a moment.

At those words, John lifted his head, his gaze meeting hers. Gifted? What the hell did that mean?

“I can see you are thinking about this. In fact, you are probably trying to figure out a way to escape back to your old life. But let me make this perfectly clear: there is no escape. You now belong to me.” She sat back in her chair with a satisfied smile on her face. “I’m told your name is John. In time you may actually earn the privilege of me using it. For now you will simply respond to your station: slave.”

John squawked indignantly behind the muzzle, stilling when Lem’s large hand gripped his shoulder. He huffed out an aggravated breath and glared up at the woman who seemed to hold his life in her hands right now.

She continued as if he’d made no sound. “Your first lesson will hopefully be a success and we won’t have to use the muzzle again: no talking. Slaves are silent – or are made to be.” At that last she looked up at Lem, a small smile on her face. John had the feeling Lem had been more difficult to train – maybe even to the point of having his voice taken away from him permanently.

John swallowed heavily. He’d have to ask the slave later – when they were away from the crazy lady in front of him.

With a last glance at John, the woman – his owner, he supposed – turned to Lem again. “Take the slave to his room. He’s had a long first day. Feed him and secure him for the night. I will see you in my chambers when you’ve finished.” She got to her feet. “Don’t keep me waiting.” Lem bowed low and tugged John to his feet as the woman walked from the room.

~*~*~

It took two days for John to find out that Lem’s previous owner had had him surgically silenced. The woman had bought him at auction just before he was to be euthanized for behavioral issues. John nearly laughed out loud at that proclamation, but the slave Lem had dragged to his room to tell his story looked about ready to cry as it was and he didn’t want to scare him. He’d scampered off as soon as Lem released him, his bare feet making soft pattering sounds as his ran down the hallway.

John looked up at Lem, who towered over him on a good day – which today wasn’t. He’d lipped off this morning and before he could muster up another round of vitriol to hurl in Lem’s direction, he was muzzled and bound; on his knees, his wrists chained behind his back and affixed to his similarly chained ankles.

John bit back a groan as Lem stepped outside his room and clapped his hands together sharply. He was staring straight ahead of him when Lem came back into the room, Sky hot on his heels.

Sky was Lem’s assistant, for lack of a better description. Lem’s muteness didn’t hinder him in any way – except for his inability to explain what was expected to John. Sky filled that role; answering John’s carefully posed questions and helping explain expected positions and protocols.

After a week of “training”, John thought he was going to go crazy from boredom or be killed over not performing to specifications. He’d never felt so clumsy since he was six and trying out for Pee Wee football for the first time. He was, therefore, a bit surprised when Sky announced that he would see the Mistress that morning. His mouth opened almost of its own volition, the questioning words ready to tumble from his tongue. And then he remembered his lessons and closed his mouth with a near audible snap of his jaw.

‘Slaves are silent.’

Lem’s hand ruffled John’s hair briefly and he also had to stifle the urge to quip, ‘woof’. He settled for rolling his eyes and followed along quite docile on the end of the leash, his hands clasped at the small of his back.

They met few people on their travels, a fact which pleased John since he still wasn’t allowed any clothing and he wasn’t allowed to cover himself in any way. The way his face felt he was sure he was blushing furiously by the time they entered what he’d come to think of as the Throne Room.

The Mistress was already in the room and John hit his knees as soon as Lem touched his shoulder. There was no way he wanted a repeat of the “reinforcement” for that rule. His ass still had sympathy aches when he thought about the caning he’d taken for resisting going to his knees when instructed. A repeat of that performance wasn’t on his list of things to do.

A light tap on his shoulder told him his attention was needed and he looked up to find the Mistress watching him. He knew the moment he started blushing and he mentally cursed himself for the reaction. What was it about a beautiful woman watching him as he knelt, naked, in front of her? Oh yeah – that. John gave himself a mental slap on the back when he managed not to look away from Mistress’s intense stare, secretly proud of that when she smiled.

“Very good, Lem,” she said after a moment and John felt himself flinch slightly as if slapped.

‘Very good, Lem?’ What about ‘Very good, John?’ Oh yeah, he _wasn’t_ John to her; he was ‘slave’. Well, damn.

And then she was laughing and John gritted his teeth against the growl that was building up in his throat. Strong fingers dug into his face as she wrapped her hand around his jaw.

“Don’t,” she said softly and John swallowed the growl down, washing it away through sheer force of will. When he had settled again, Mistress smiled and gentled her touch, her fingers caressing his face and then running gently through his unruly hair. “Mine.”

John’s gaze lifted quickly. He’d been unaware that he had closed his eyes, leaning slightly into her touch. She smiled at him.

“Mine,” she repeated. “My almost-Atlantean.”

*~*~*

Kneeling, standing, sitting, sleeping; all were performed to the tune of rules, rules, and more rules – and silence. Mistress was good to him when he followed her rules. She petted him and played with him, even bringing him orgasm occasionally. Mostly, though, he was a decoration, posed at her side as she went about her daily business. A few weeks in, he didn’t even notice as people passed through, bringing their petitions to their leader and leaving with her ruling in hand – for good or bad.

Time had ceased to have any meaning when he’d first been marked with her sigil. The tattoo had been painful but her hand on his cock, slowly stroking him to distraction, had taken his mind off the pain and it was a shock when he’d stood in front of the mirror and looked over his shoulder to see the intricate design that flowed over his shoulder and down his back, the last lines swirling over the swell of his ass. Mistress had pulled him close that time, leaning her head on his other shoulder as she watched the play of emotions over his face in the mirror behind him.

“This marks you as mine, slave,” she’d said softly. “And, when this heals, I will add to it.”

John took a sharp breath, his gaze snapping up to meet hers in the mirror.

“I like seeing my marks on you.”

Even if he’d been allowed to use his voice, he didn’t think he would have had anything to say to that. For some reason, a small fire burned in his gut at her words – a fire that made him feel good. He shivered once as his cock began to fill and Mistress wrapped her hand around his length. She didn’t bring him off that time either but watching her in the mirror was enough. John felt pride in the fact that he could put that look on her face. Who cared if his balls ached nearly as much as his neck as he craned it to keep looking over his shoulder?

~*~*~

Lem still worked with him. ‘Training’, Mistress called it. John didn’t complain but he thought he was already trained and why did he have to leave Mistress for hours at a time, just to run through his lessons – lessons he’d perfected long ago? Mistress seemed happy with his service. She even let him sleep on a blanket beside her bed – after she had used his tongue and sometimes his prick.

John noticed that Mistress seemed preoccupied after he’d been sent to work with Lem and wondered at it. But she would always perk up when he knelt at her side, her fingers carding through his hair almost absently.

And then it happened. A seemingly innocent request from his Mistress sent a flutter of feeling through him and he bit back a groan. Mistress didn’t allow random sounds and he’d learned to stifle them after wearing the hated muzzle for every infraction. But today his voice was welling up and he wasn’t entirely sure he could keep quiet.

“It won’t hurt you, slave,” Mistress said softly as she cupped his face in her palm.

And it wouldn’t hurt him. That wasn’t what made him hesitate. As his hand neared the object Mistress had set on the floor in front of him he could feel an energy and it was familiar. Not the object. John was pretty sure he’d never seen anything like it before. But he knew the feeling of goosebumps rising on his flesh. He’d touched similar objects before and those objects had held power.

“Touch it,” Mistress prodded.

John reached out, a small huff of air the only sign he allowed to show his trepidation. His fingers tingled as they made contact with the surface of the object and he wanted nothing more than to pull his hand away and wipe the oily sensation away. John stilled as a flash of memory rocked him: he reached out and touched a metal object, the energy making the hair on his arm stand on end. His fingers felt oily and he pulled them back, wiping them on his shirt and then again on his pants. “What’s the matter, Colonel? Did it bite you?” The man grinned and John rolled his eyes. “Bite me, McKay.”

McKay. Rodney McKay. And he was Colonel John Sheppard – not just Slave. How long had he been in this place and why hadn’t anyone come for him?

A light pressure fell on the top of his head and he flinched. Fingers tightened in his hair and forced his head up and back.

“Look at me.”

John opened his eyes and looked up into the angry eyes of Mistress. He’d been distracted, but flinching away from her touch had been bad – very bad. John swallowed heavily. Over the past few months (it had to have been at least that long) he had grown accustomed to Mistress’ touch on his bare skin. He’d grown used to his nudity and his hairless body. But one touch to the artifact had stripped all that from him – taken his complacency in one tingling boost of energy. And what the hell was that thing, anyway?

~~~

When John woke the next day he was stiff and sore. As he pulled his knees under him, getting into the accustomed position to be retrieved for the day, he had to stifle a groan. The door opened slowly just as a forbidden thought entered his head and he had to bite back a mirthless chuckle. As a kid he’d played the game, Two for Flinching, with his friends. He had played it again the night before, but Mistress used a bull whip.

And then Sky was in front of him, unlocking his leash from the tie point at the corner of his cage and gesturing for him to get out. John blinked stupidly for a moment before scuttling out of the cage and getting to his feet, slipping into the proper position quickly and without thought.

A lead was affixed to his collar and his cuffs were clipped together behind his back before he was nudged to his feet and led from the room. Thankfully, he was taken to the toilet room first, the only thing that was _usual_ about the day. While John emptied his bladder and bowels, he wondered where Lem was … and why Sky was clothed.

He didn’t have long to wonder, however, as he was led to the main hall as soon as the bath attendants were finished with him. A man hung from manacles in the center of the room, his feet fastened wide on the smooth marble floor, his heels just barely off the ground as his arms were pulled high and wide. Blood trickled from numerous wounds that crossed his back in a patchwork of intersecting stripes. Whoever the poor man was, he was tall and muscular.

As John walked across the floor, his gaze skittering to the bound slave and away again, he noticed a small cage set up beside the man. They wouldn’t put the slave in that cage, would they? John remembered the feel of being caged in this room and he couldn’t imagine having to endure it while already being in agony from a beating of that magnitude.

Just then Sky stopped walking and turned to John. He flicked his hand in a _down_ gesture and John dropped to his knees gracefully. The side of the cage was lifted and John held himself still as he realized that another slave stood there.

“In,” Sky said firmly, pointing to the cage with his free hand.

John didn’t even think as he lifted his gaze to the slave’s face. In? Him? What was he being punished for? Wasn’t his beating the night before enough?

Sky backhanded him, almost toppling John with the force of the blow and he licked at a split lip as he heard Sky repeat the order to enter the cage. It was his next words that had John struggling to comprehend, though. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble?” And then John’s gaze flicked to the bound slave and he gasped. It was Lem.

“He was beaten for your misdeeds yesterday,” Sky confirmed softly as he gripped John’s face in his fist and turned John’s head so he was looking at him. “He will get more if you do not obey.”

John opened his mouth to ask _why_ and then closed it again with a snap. He couldn’t ask – couldn’t do anything really, except climb into the cage and endure. As John shuffled around to back into the cage, he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. He looked up and then followed Sky’s gaze. Mistress was walking toward them, her heels rapping hollowly on the marble floor. John immediately dropped his gaze and leaned forward to rest his forehead on the floor in the position taught to him by the man hanging from the chains at his side.

“Use this,” she said. “I’m expecting – company today.”

He couldn’t help it – he fought. Two slaves held him as Sky fit the hood over his head, forcing the bit plate between his teeth and then lacing the leather tightly up the back of his head. Only his eyes were left uncovered – presumably so he could see the punishment meted out to Lem on his behalf.

John was forced into the cage. A ring on the top of his hood was attached to the top of the small cage, holding his head up and forcing him to look at the bound man, hanging a mere couple of feet away from his cage. His wrists were chained to his ankles and then the side of the cage was reattached, locking him into a space so small he could feel the metal grate press into his arms and the soles of his feet as he knelt in place. A small bar was pressed between his knees, forcing his legs to remain open and putting his genitals on display, something that had bothered him the most in the beginning – and served to remind him now of how his slave mentality had been shattered by the Ancient device he’d touched the day before. He growled low in his throat and got a shock from the retraining device to his bare soles for his trouble.

“Silence, slave,” Sky said quietly from just behind him. “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

Being forced to watch as Lem was roused and then whipped again – and knowing it was all his fault – almost broke John again. He tried closing his eyes, but the bite of the electricity into the soles of his feet served to remind him to watch every last lash. Only by repeating one mantra over and over again in his head was he able to withstand this fresh torture: Rodney will find me.

John’s world narrowed down to pain; pain in his feet from the correction device, pain in his knees from being forced to kneel for hours on wire mesh, pain in his shoulders from his hands being bound tightly behind him, pain in his jaw from him clenching his teeth against the metal plate in his mouth, and pain in his heart as he realized that this just might be his life now – a tool used by a madwoman to turn Ancient artifacts on.

~*~*~

Sometime during the interminably long day, John thought he heard gunfire and shouting but still he watched the still form hanging by its wrists in front of him. Lem had started gasping for breath a short while ago but no one seemed to be watching him any longer and John was sure the slave was going to suffocate to death as his diaphragm seized up.

He watched as Lem’s breaths became shallower and then further apart. Any minute now they would just cease and Lem would die. John waited and wondered if his end would be as horrific or if he would be killed quickly once he was no longer useful to Mistress.

The shouting was getting louder, closer – and then Lem was sagging to the ground and John huffed out a sigh of relief through his nose. His cage rattled, the door opened, and then rough hands were on his body, dragging him from its confines, out into the room, unprotected, vulnerable. He fought, kicking out when the chains between his wrists and ankles were severed. He screamed through the pain in his limbs as circulation was restored. And then someone was there, bending over him, straddling his body and pressing into him. Concerned blue eyes stared into his own brown ones.

“John, it’s me, Rodney. We’re here now – and you’re safe.”

~*~*~

John sat on the pier, his legs dangling over the side. He’d been home now for a month, off duty, in therapy, and going slowly insane from the boredom. Lem and Sky were living on the mainland with Teyla’s people and he had seen them only once – one time that had made his skin crawl as memories threatened to overwhelm him. Maybe, in time, those memories would fade and he would be able to thank them for keeping him safe and sane. Maybe he’d be able to thank Sky for bringing his friends to him. Maybe he would be able to look them in the eyes without wanting to drop to his knees and bow his head as his mind told him he was _supposed_ to. Maybe he’d wait – and hope things would get easier.

A soft sound startled him and he turned, ready to pounce – ready to flee if it meant not getting put back in chains.

It was Rodney. He gave an apologetic smile and sat beside John on the pier, settling a six pack of beer between them. “Thought you might want a little company,” he said easily as he twisted the cap off one of the bottles of beer and handed it to John.

John raised an eyebrow as he tipped the bottle to his lips.

Rodney blushed and raised his own beer in silent toast.

“Using the stargate for your own nefarious purposes again, Rodney?” John asked as he wiped the back of one hand across his lips, studiously ignoring the fact that said hand was shaking slightly.

Rodney blushed harder. “No – the Daedalus,” he answered with a smirk.

“Requisitioned it then?” John asked easily as his fingers picked at the shiny label on the bottle.

Rodney took another sip. “Yep.”

John lifted his bottle in salute. “Thanks.”

~~~

END


End file.
